She could not understand it all at once, but stood stupefied, struck especially by the thought of death. Then, suddenly, the familiarity of it seized upon her mind. This came like a great light, illuminating her whole life, showing her the infamous truth, all their treachery, all their perfidy. She saw now their cunning, their sly looks, her good faith played with, her confidence turned to account. She saw them looking into each other's faces, under the shade of her lamp at evening, reading from the same book, exchanging glances at the end of certain pages.
And her heart, stirred with indignation, bruised with suffering, sunk into an abyss of despair that had no boundaries.
When she heard steps, she fled and shut herself in her room.
Her husband called her: "Come quickly, Madame Rosset is dying!"
Bertha appeared at her door and said with trembling lip:
"Go alone to her; she has no need of me."
He looked at her sheepishly, careless from anger, and repeated:
"Quick, quick! She is dying!"
Bertha answered: "You would prefer it to be I."
Then he understood, probably, and left her to herself, going up again to the dying one.